


Tabula Rasa

by Ellie5192



Category: Major Crimes (TV)
Genre: Amnesia fic, F/M, almost crack it's so out there, probably ooc but honestly this was too fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-07-11 23:41:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7075483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellie5192/pseuds/Ellie5192
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Besides being a bit confusing, it was… well frankly, having retrograde amnesia was a pain in the ass. Not least because, at some point in the last five years, she seemed to have rearranged her entire kitchen and the storage layout of her crockery." Shandy. One-shot. Almost crack?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blank Slate

**Author's Note:**

> Shandy. One-shot. Almost crack? This was inspired by a tumblr post about 'amnesia fic lacking secondhand embarrassment', and since that happens to be one of my favourite things, I thought I’d write a little one-shot. (Little turned into 8 pages and 4k words, oops!)  
> Enjoy!

_**Tabula Rasa** _

Besides being a bit confusing, it was… well frankly, having retrograde amnesia was a pain in the ass. Not least because, at some point in the last five years, she seemed to have rearranged her entire kitchen and the storage layout of her crockery. All she wanted was a goddam mug to make a nice cup of tea, was that too much to ask?

She could feel Andy's eyes on her over the counter island. She'd sent Rusty to bed for the same behaviour, but Andy wouldn't be leaving without an expressed request to do so. He had been hovering – watching her like a hawk – since she was released from the hospital on strict bedrest and constant family monitoring. Nobody seemed to question that Andy would take her home, and while she appreciated a familiar face she had yet to work out just how familiar that face was, or how appropriate it would be for Taylor to find out. Andy was a mystery - he knew her address without asking, and had a key to her front door on his own keyring. But it wasn't until she spotted a picture on her home desk of the two of them at what looked like a wedding that it really clicked.

She and Andy were a _thing_. A very serious _thing_.

How in the Sam Holy Hell… never mind. She was too sore and too tired to think about it tonight.

She was also a little too afraid of the answer to outright ask him herself.

The doctor had assured her again and again that she should recover most of her memory. The last five years were hazy, but fragments were coming back every hour – some in blurry black and white, others in vivid technicolour. The year and month didn't seem to worry her; current political events seemed familiar though without great detail in her mind. She remembered Rusty without problem – maybe not the intricate particulars of his long journey with her, but she remembered some of the subjects he was taking at college, and that was recent enough to give hope that she would get the rest back too. The poor boy had cried in her arms when she recognised him, and she also knew enough to understand the significance of why his hug was precious.

She remembered taking over the Major Crimes Division. And the hostility she met there. She could recall with alarming alacrity the feel of her building's metal staircase as she ran barefoot down eight flights, and the eventual firefight encounter with Wade Weller.

She remembered the entrance code to her parking garage, and that was only changed a couple of months ago.

But despite the sad looks and long gazes and gentle attentiveness, she could not recall anything at all about her supposed relationship with the womanising, hot-headed, overly dramatic Lieutenant Flynn. She wasn't even sure of the extent of said relationship, except for a picture of an unbelievably intimate embrace between the two of them on the dance floor of someone else's wedding, and the sense that she was breaking his heart a little more each hour it didn't come back to her.

And she tried not to feel too guilty about that when she gave up the search for a teacup and excused herself to go to bed, hoping he would get the message that he could see himself out.

Her room, however, was not the refuge she was hoping for; instead it was littered with small tokens of a life that she was only half-convinced was hers. Logically of course she knew it _was_ hers. And she didn't feel foreign in this space, only confused. She smiled at the picture on her dresser of her three children posed with her at Christmas. The swell of love in her heart felt like coming home.

Turning around she saw bedding that was obviously new, but tasteful and definitely something she would pick for herself. She looked in the closet and - perhaps mercifully - saw only her own clothes there, arranged as they always had been. On the bedside table on her usual side of the bed was a pair of cheap reading glasses perched on top of a book - a fluffy chick lit piece of nonsense that her daughter probably got her for her last birthday and that she secretly loved. The bookmark was only a chapter or two in.

"At least I won't waste too much time catching up on that" she muttered to herself. Her head thrummed with the lasting effects of her concussion, but the thought of reading no longer gave her a migraine, which was comforting and probably the only reason the doctor let her home so soon.

She found a nightie without much fuss and changed. In the bathroom she reached for her hair brush and toothbrush without much thought. Both moments gave her triumphant pause; perhaps normalcy was not so far off after all. Her reflection looked the same as she remembered - she shuddered to think of waking up feeling years older, and was glad her amnesia was classed as 'temporally graded' with high hope for a full recovery.

She left the bathroom in relatively good spirits. Turning off the main light and flicking on just the lamp, Sharon slid into bed and reached for the book, reading the blurb. She didn't remember it at all, but she wasn't overly worried by that. What surprised her - took her quite aback - was the bookmark when she flicked it open.

A business card for _Serve_. She turned it over - on the blank side was the date and time of her apparent visit. Her heart beat faster. It was an old tradition of hers, to save the cards of very nice dinner places and date them so she remembered the evening. It had started in college, when 'nice' was anything slightly above 'cheap burgers' and remembering good eating spots was more important than remembering a bad date's name. She had kept the habit ever since. It was nice to have those memories.

And now she was looking at the proof that she had been on a date to _Serve_. She was not so self-delusional as to deny who the date was with, that much was obvious.

Thrusting the card back in the book and placing it on the table, she picked up her phone, unlocked it, scrolled through her contacts, and breathed a sigh of relief when she came on a familiar name.

_Gavin QB_

He knew them both, and was brutally honest when she needed it. Maybe he could shed some light, more than Andy's tiptoeing partner or her meddling children would dare. Everyone was being very sweet about it all, but at this point she just needed a straight answer.

He answered on the third ring.

"How goes my Captain? How's the head?"

She smiled at the frankness of his greeting. He had come to visit her in the hospital, not at all concerned if she remembered him or not, which of course she had; she wasn't sure anyone could forget Gavin regardless of whether or not they wanted to.

"Tired, but well enough" she replied.

"Well, what can I do to help?"

She took a deep breath. "Explain to me something?"

"Anything"

"Andy Flynn"

And to her embarrassment and utter devastation he barked out a laugh and got a desperate case of the giggles. She groaned into the phone; it was answer enough, really.

"Explain the unexplainable, darling you do ask the best questions"

"What about my relationship status?"

"I think the Andy Flynn question is the easier of the two"

She scrunched her face at that, confused and perplexed. Her relationship status was truly that complicated? Surely not - she knew herself well enough to know it was either 'on' or 'off' but never… her mind paused. She remembered the twenty year joke that was her non-divorce. Perhaps she deserved that assessment after all, and that just made her want to give herself a stern lecture.

She pressed on. "Just tell me one thing - have we informed Taylor of anything?"

"Oh yes, months ago"

Her eyes slipped closed. Well, if she had told her superior…

"Why didn't anyone see fit to tell me I had a boyfriend?"

Gavin laughed again, and a wave of irritation washed over her. She was getting very tired of being the butt of a joke she didn't know was being told.

"Because you refuse to _say_ you have a boyfriend"

She rolled her eyes at herself, and a logical (if not memory-filled) sense of the situation came to her - dating, slowly; so slow that it was barely existent but existent enough to be acknowledged to their superiors. It was frustrating because a distinct lack of physical and emotional intimacy was something that sat firm in her mind when she thought back beyond the range of the amnesia. Years of excuses to not find love again, including the intrusion of her marriage. What on earth had she been waiting for? She was never reticent about affection or sexuality before - she'd had lovers and enjoyed the process of courting. If she was with Andy Flynn - _Andy Flynn_ , the whole thing still seemed surreal - it couldn't have been much different. Could it?

"Of course, he did get injured _just_ when you were thinking about… sealing the deal-"

She closed her eyes against everything he was implying.

"- but still, it was slow, even for you"

She rolled her eyes. "I will ignore the implications of that last part for now. Why am I dating Andy Flynn?"

Which just made Gavin laugh again, a muffled _I don't know_ littered throughout. "Apparently he has untapped depths"

The _untapped depths_ of his remarks made her eyes roll again. "I'll hang up on you"

"Hey babe, you're the one who wants answers"

She sighed deeply.

"I feel bad for not remembering this. I remember practically everyone else"

Gavin stayed quiet just a moment - just long enough to switch gears, to present the rare creature that was sympathetic friend. "If I know Andy Flynn and the way you two are, he's still there with you right now"

"I don't know, I'm in bed with my door closed"

He heard a huff. "Five bucks says he's on your couch"

She didn't answer, but she also didn't get out of bed to prove him wrong. Part of her felt annoyed that it might be true and that her personal space was continually being invaded when all she wanted was room to recover. Another part of her felt touched - emotional even - to think she had found a partner in someone after so long without; someone who was apparently patient enough to deal with ambiguous relationship statuses and a distinct lack of sex. Even if that person was _Andrew Flynn_ (she was fixated on that point. Visions of his FID file flitted through her mind, clear as day).

"When did this become my life?" she asked. She hadn't set out to say it out loud, but it was a relief to let someone else know where her mind was.

"It's not so bad, is it?"

She thought about the Major Crimes squad, and about Rusty, and all the things happening in everyone's life besides her own. She had been ready for a change five years ago - empty nester, looking to move on or move up now that FID had served its purpose of giving her children a somewhat stable base. She hadn't been seeking to take over Major Crimes, but a series of events had led her life in a wonderful direction, so far as she could tell.

"No. It's not bad at all" she answered with a smile.

"Tell you what. Sleep on it, call me in the morning, and have a conversation with that handsome Lieutenant in the meantime"

Sharon snorted. "Okay. I will"

"Okay. Talk later"

"Thanks Gavin. Goodnight"

And without fanfare the line went dead. She looked at the phone in her hand as the screen went back to the home background. The image was her children all making funny faces into the camera - no doubt Ricky had done it last time they all visited. But it gave her pause, and an idea.

Checking her door - unnecessarily, because without a doubt nobody would open it without knocking first - she clicked open her photo albums and began flicking through. She didn't use her camera often, but when she did it was always of family. The latest picture open was a picture of Emily and a couple of her dance company friends, holding up a giant card that read "Get Well Soon Mom" with hearts and messages around it; her consolation for being in the middle of a show and rehearsal for another and therefore unable to make the impromptu trip west. The next picture along was the same from Ricky - him holding up a get well card. She had also spoken to him and despite her insistence he was visiting on the weekend.

Sharon scrolled again. A selfie with Rusty at the hospital to send to her parents as proof of life (- Rusty's terminology). A blurry picture of Provenza with a handful of flowers in a hospital corridor, no doubt taken by Rusty with her pilfered phone.

She scrolled again. This time, a picture of Andy sitting in a chair next to her bed, his hand holding hers while she was still unconscious. It made her squirm a little bit - not so much from distaste, but that familiar feeling of not getting the punchline - as though even her phone knew something she didn't. She looked at herself in the bed (pale, frail, and every one of her years on display) and at Andy's face (tired, drawn and worried. The look of a concerned loved one).

The next photo along had nothing to do with her accident, and she was glad, until she looked closer. A family dinner - her, Rusty, Andy and a young man (Greg? Something starting with G-) - seated around her dinner table, obviously taken as a selfie by Rusty. She wondered if maybe they took it to send to someone. Or maybe just to celebrate a nice meal together. Still it felt intimate. She and Andy were seated next to each other, his arm resting over the back of her chair as he faced the camera. It spoke of familiarity.

"Oh, but I don't have a boyfriend" she said mockingly to herself, rolling her eyes.

She kept scrolling - innocuous things and fun things; sometimes a picture of a nice sunset from her balcony that she wanted to savour, or a pair of boots in a shop window to go back and buy when on sale. Sometimes pictures with Andy, the two of them always looking a little too close; her face always grinning just a little too much to be forced. She got the impression more than once that she was holding back a laugh, and another wave of emotion overcame her - sadness and annoyance. Why was she taking things so damn slowly? She was obviously crazy about the man. Her lack of action or even recognition of Andy's place in her life - to her friends or her family - was just not acceptable, not after so long fooling around with divorce papers and short-lived affairs that never lasted.

One particular picture was taken of them - Andy looking at something to the side, Sharon looking at him with an infatuated look on her face - and she screwed up her eyes in disapproval; she was making this face at him in _public_? And nobody called her on it? Did nobody care that she was apparently making a fool of herself over this guy? Or was she told by someone and in complete denial? Oh, it was probably the latter.

"You need to get yourself together, Sharon" she muttered, shaking her head. Frankly she was appalled at herself.

She looked at the time on her phone before locking the screen. Not too late.

She got out of bed, determined. She got a dressing gown, because a nightie was hardly appropriate attire for confronting anything. She hesitated at her door, reminded herself just how silly she had been (Honestly, 'taking it slow', what is that? Since when are you such a sap? Just talk to the man!), and pushed on, opening her bedroom door quietly but firmly. She looked briefly towards Rusty's room - the light was on under the door but it was shut - before turning and walking to the living room.

Andy was indeed reclined against the back of the couch, a spare blanket set up - which he obviously knew where to find - and the television on but near silent. There was a single lamp on and no other light. He was clearly trying not to disturb her.

He must have noticed her approaching, because he turned his head and his brow furrowed.

"You okay?"

"You're still here"

He didn't seem offended; he surprised her and smiled - soft, the way a lover might. She nearly blushed.

"Is that okay?"

She nodded, but surveyed his sleeping arrangements. She almost commented on his back hurting if he slept on that couch, but then considered that the alternative would be he share with her, and that was just… not happening. (Evidently, her mind sneered).

"Can I talk to you?"

He almost hurt himself moving over to make room for her so quickly, his finger pressing the mute button on the remote in the process. She took note of it - the puppy eyes and the obvious eager-to-please attitude, like he was lapping up the breadcrumbs she threw him. Once again she chided her past self, but also congratulated her a little too. She couldn't remember this version of Andy at all - gone was the obnoxious jerk, and here was this sweet and slightly bumbling boyfriend, ready to pull out the trampoline as soon as she yelled _jump_. She wondered if past her - _before_ her - had noticed at all the effect she had on him, or cared.

"What's up?' he asked. He looked as though he wanted to settled close to her, into her side, but at the last minute he changed his mind and placed a respectable distance between them, as though a chaperone might see.

She took a deep breath. "Why didn't you tell me about us?"

His face fell into what could only be described as joyful confused shock. It was a comical mix, but then he must have been taken off guard to be approached so bluntly. "Us?"

"I have… figured some things out"

"Oh" he said, looking around a little. "That. Well"

"Andy. You've stayed by my side since the accident and not once did you say that it's because we're in a relationship"

He was put on the back foot, left scrambling a little to catch up. Maybe he had accepted she would never remember; maybe he had hoped she would just accept his presence without it being discussed. Whatever the reason, he was looking down, fumbling a little and looking about as though the answer might be found written on his socks.

"We are in a relationship, aren't we?"

"Well, yeah" he said, confirming at least that much. "But I wasn't sure what you remembered so…"

"You were waiting?"

"Yeah. Waiting. For you to, you know, give an indication or a clue about… what you knew. You know?"

She smiled at him - the endearing way he tried to explain himself - and a tiny voice told her it wasn't so farfetched to fall for this Andy after all.

"I went trawling through my phone for pictures. You featured quite prominently"

"That's 'cause I'm the only one who reminds you to use the damn thing, besides Rusty" he said. He almost sounded proud of that.

"Well, I took a look. And I spoke to Gavin. Apparently there's some… timing issues around our relationship?"

She refused to allow herself to blush about any of the implications he might take from that. There seemed to have been timing issues about a lot of things - if the bedroom was one of those things, well that was more a comment on his expectations than on her phrasing. And maybe she was taking things slow, but that was a timing issue too so far as she was concerned. Lovesick Sharon seemed a little… pathetic really. Getting all chocked up about a boy. Going all gah-gah when he asked her to dinner. A familiar flutter started in her belly - part anticipation, part nerves - and she thought perhaps her body was remembering before her mind; confirmation that she needed to spit this out before that other Sharon re-emerged.

"No. No issue at all"

And the certainty with which he said it, even when she knew (or had made an educated guess) that their relationship had been less than linear, made her wonder just how long she had fancied him before acting on it. The _Serve_ card came back to mind. Maybe he asked her first. Actually, he would have had to - Gavin did say she refused to use the word _boyfriend_ , no way would she have asked him first. Besides, it would have had to be him, since she was his superior - she wouldn't have risked the implication that she somehow coerced him into a relationship within the chain of command.

"I don't remember but…" she started, her hands flailing, pointing her finger in the air like a wayward conductor. "What have we… done?"

And with that the blush she was fighting came through. She ignored it; let it burn her cheeks while her gaze held his.

"Whatever you were comfortable with"

She ducked her head, the heat of her cheeks too compelling to keeping looking in his eyes. "That's not much of an answer"

He chuckled, and then moved in next to her and put an arm over her shoulders so she was tucked into his side. She let him, and it didn't feel as strange as she expected, though she wouldn't say it felt familiar either. Andy seemed comfortable enough doing it, like he was used to this level of touch, but he didn't press. She thought perhaps his hug was an olive branch to forgive her lack of remembering their relationship; if he gained any physical comfort from it that was a bonus.

"I'm sorry I don't remember this" she said. It was the truth. She was still sceptical of a relationship with him, but the more she observed the man he was now, the more she recognised the change he had undergone since her time in IA. He was gentler, calmer - still quick to make a face or judge someone on the surface, but more likely now to soften after rather than blow up. He had obviously done a lot of work on himself and his temper. She wasn't sure if she was one of the reasons for that, and that scared her a little too.

"Sharon, it's okay. I'll just have to try extra hard to make you remember why you like me"

She looked up at him, their faces closer than she was used to, and she smiled softly. Images of Christmas with him came to mind - a dinner in the murder room years ago. The various times she had to stop herself from laughing at an insubordinate comment he had made. A moment - a flash of her touching his arm to get him to back down - came to mind and it gave her hope. She was certain it was more recent. (Maybe she _had_ been a part in his calming change, and wouldn't that be something).

"I always liked you" she said. It was mostly true. She either liked him or wanted to toss him in a cold pool. But she never actively _disliked_ him.

"So what pictures did you see?"

And she just barely stopped herself from answering _a random collection of the most pathetic love-sick fools you have ever seen_. Because as much as it might be true, the sardonic voice of her inner self didn't need to be shared until she was on a bit more even footing.

"How about we watch some television?" she said instead.

He just smiled knowingly at her and agreed. There would be time enough to walk down memory lane together.


	2. Pu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The morning did not bring the answers she was looking for, but mercifully her sense of comfort in her space was lasting and genuine. This was home, even if the coffee table book was new and the family pictures somewhat changed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to this fic was overwhelming! Thank you all so much - it is so appreciated. I hadn't intended a second chapter, but by popular demand I can't resist. So here it is.   
> As always, let me know what you think, and enjoy!

 

**_~~_ **

**_Pu:_ ** _"unworked wood, simple; natural; root, origin"_

**_~~_ **

The morning did not bring the answers she was looking for, but mercifully her sense of comfort in her space was lasting and genuine. This was home, even if the coffee table book was new and the family pictures somewhat changed. She spent the morning igniting her senses, a trick the doctor had suggested for triggering more memories; the smell of her shampoo, the spritz of her current perfume, and the ambience of the half-burned candle in her bedroom all created an assault on her senses. It wasn't so much that a montage of her life started flashing before her eyes, but small habits and inherent knowledge was feeling more natural; was coming to the surface more readily and without prompting.

She brushed out her hair in the bathroom and gave herself a smile in the mirror. 

Her housemates were both up and about when she finally decided to start the day fully.

She was spared the search of a mug by Andy; when she emerged from her room and came to the kitchen a mug with a dry teabag was waiting by the kettle. The suspicious way Rusty was eyeing it told her it wasn't his doing. Was this habit a regular one of theirs, she wondered; was she now the late sleeper when she used to wake with the dawn? And the assumption that she would want a green tea first in the morning - just because it was _accurate_ didn't mean it was _appropriate_.

She chided herself for being so grumpy about everything Andy did. There was evidence enough around the place (perhaps too much evidence) that she was giddily happy with her current life; there was no reason to sour it all with a constant litany of glass-half-empty complaints.

"Good morning" she said to both Andy and Rusty with a smile. They were sitting at the table both eating a bowl of cereal, watching her with a mix of wariness and hope. She ran her hand over Rusty's hair to soften the rather clinical greeting; to reassure him in a way, as she knew he needed. The last thing Sharon wanted was for Rusty to start distrusting this place again, not now that he was finally a true member of the family. Andy just smiled at her over the table, maybe a little bit disappointed but not at all resentful that he wasn't her first priority.

"Do you want me to stay home?" asked Rusty, no lead-in, just direct and to the point.

She smiled at him. "No honey. You go to your classes. You've already missed a couple of days and I don't want you falling behind"

He looked sceptical, but he also knew she wouldn't stand for him missing out on any more school, regardless of her health situation. She could take care of herself, after all. Even if she still didn't know where her own crockery was stored, she could easily find out. And her concussion was recovered enough that she had been cleared for being at home. She couldn’t drive yet - an appointment in a couple of days would determine that - but she didn't need her baby to be a babysitter.

"I'm sure" she added, in response to the incredulous look on his face. "Besides, I'll have Andy here to help me"

She looked a little uncertain of herself as she said it - trying to put on a brave front for her son even as last night came back to her mind, the two of them sitting side by side on the couch, the physical proximity feeling strange and awkward. (She had fallen asleep chastising herself for sitting rigid at his side like a prom date at the cinema; she barely even remembered the film for all her concentration of every point of contact between them.) Andy didn't say anything, just watched the exchange with a mouth full of food, forgetting to chew for a moment as he assessed the attitude of the room.

Rusty still looked sceptical. Sharon looked nervous. Neither of them looked like they were going to comment on the other's mood. If it wasn't so damn uncomfortable it might have been funny.

There was no question of course that Andy would stay with her - she was his boss and therefore she had been informed that he took personal leave to make sure she had someone around during her concussion recovery. She wasn't supposed to be alone, and he was the only one in a position (or with the inclination) to spend all day with her. She was a bit nervous about being left home with him; not because he was overstepping in anyway, but because she didn't want to further upset him with her discomfort. She was still annoyed at herself for feeling that way - she had nerves, for sure. Like a goddamn teenager, and it was infuriating.

It was strange - she had butterflies over that fact that she _didn't_ have butterflies when she was around him. The anticipation of what wasn't there was as acute as it would have been with all her mind in tact. She felt overly aware of herself - monitoring how often she watched him or touched his arm - trying to gauge if she treated him the way she used to, which in a round-about way made her treat him _exactly_ as she did before. Gentle, but reserved. It was a never-ending cycle of tentative glances and smiles, and she was kicking herself, because after all, wasn't she _just_ telling herself to get a grip and grow up about the whole thing?

"I was thinking a trip to the green grocer you like" said Andy, breaking the silent stalemate. "To pick up some fresh food and get out of the house for a bit"

She smiled at him in agreement. It was a nice idea - public enough to make her comfortable, but intimate enough to bring them closer together. He was really trying; his comment last night about making her remember stuck in her mind. They must have really cared about each other, for him to be so thoughtful about the whole situation. Once again she considered that she might just fall for this Andy after all, regardless of what came back to her. A part of her was still waiting for the other shoe to drop, but then she hadn't been surprised to see his little pile of blankets on the couch when she came out of her room that morning; it was baby steps in the right direction.

"I'm gonna head off" said Rusty, standing and walking his bowl to the kitchen.

"I'm going to make a quick phone call" she said.

Rusty came to stand in front of her. "I'll have my phone on me all day" he said.

She laughed out loud at him, holding his cheek in fondness, her expression full of unbridled love. "Thank you. I'm okay. I love you." She kissed his cheek and pulled him in for a hug, and then pulled away and nudged him towards the door, sensing his hesitation. "I'll see you tonight"

"Okay" he said, reluctantly. "I love you too"

And with that he was out the door.

She turned back to Andy, hovering on the spot for a while. (God, you really are pathetic around him, whispered her mind. Was this muscle memory or just the inevitable?)

"I'm just going to quickly make that phone call" she said, not wanting him to think she was running away.

"Take all the time you need" he replied, smiling around his spoon. He betrayed no sadness, no resentment.

Who was this man? She thought back over what she knew of him. This kindness had always been there inside him - wasn't he a sponsor at AA, she thought, and that took a certain personality - but for so long the hallmark of their relationship, even tentative friendship, had been the foundation of animosity. Every visit to The Ovens down at IA had been met with unchecked hostility, even if they always parted company with words that almost classified as flirting. She remembered the times she worked along side him, before being his boss - he had been hot-headed but intelligent, always catching on when she tried to find a loophole for his team to exploit. He had seemed, at least at the time, to gain satisfaction from their quirky dynamic. Just as she had.

Again, she considered that with time and tempering, it made sense that such a relationship would soften around the edges. It wasn't so strange to think their snappy repartee might lose its bite along the way. But romance? Romance still felt far away - she could already feel the beginnings of a crush, no doubt fuelled by intrigue. But it was a far cry from being in a relationship, and with a member of her team no less; she wouldn't take such a choice lightly, not without considerable time to consider everything that came with it. If she knew herself at all she knew that to be true. Though, from what she had gathered they had danced around actual dating for months, maybe even over a year.

Again, she felt a little guilty that she had lost so much of their time together.

She turned and left him at the table, heading to her room to make her phone call. She closed the door gently, so as not to give the impression she was shutting him out.

Gavin answered on the fourth ring this time. "How did you go?" he answered.

She had to respect the efficiency of his phone conversation. She stayed standing and paced slowly around the room.

"It was an okay evening. We just watched some television together"

"Any canoodling?'

She snorted, amused and outraged. "No" she drawled. "It's still… strange. I know him, but not like that"

"Give him a kiss - that might bring back memories"

She rolled her eyes. "According to you that would just be a brand new experience for both of us"

She heard him huff with amusement into the phone. "Not far wrong"

She glared at a spot on her wall, imagining it was Gavin's smug face. "Anyway. I don't know"

"You don't know about him?" He sounded suddenly concerned; back to being that sweet friend she needed to talk to, who cared but wouldn't spare her feelings either.

"I think I can see myself liking him-"

"Well that’s good"

She ignored him and pressed on. "- but it's so far from what I know… it's something that just takes time… and I seem to have lost all my time"

For the first time her situation made her distinctly sad - a wave of emotion came over her bringing tears to her eyes. Why was everything else coming back so seamlessly and yet this one thing - this very significant piece of her heart - was blocked from her? Was this what her subconscious wanted - to forget the whole idea of Andy? Or was it just a cruel twist of fate that the first real relationship she had tried since leaving Jack would turn to shit because of a bump to the head?

"Sweetheart, stop being so hard on yourself"

"I'm trying not to be"

She heard Gavin sigh; he had talked her through many of her lowest points over a glass of wine. He could no doubt sense where her mood had gone. "How about instead of focussing so hard on making it work, you just get to know him like you would anyone else?"

She considered that a moment. It sounded good in theory. And they were going shopping later - that would give her a better indication of Andy outside of work. She certainly wanted to remember everything about her relationship with him, just as she remembered with ease the dynamic between everyone else. But one thought kept nagging at her-

"What if I never learn to love him again Gavin? What if a part of me doesn't want to?"

There was a long pause at the end of the line as he thought that over; she could sense Gavin becoming very serious. She had obviously spoken to him in great length about her relationship, so he was no doubt privy to all her ups and downs, fears and hang-ups, and excitement over finding a partner in life again. It must have been a shock to him to hear she didn't want it; not so much _didn't want it_ , because she would never deny herself love, but the thought that she might not fall back in love with Andy was scary. It was an unknown, and she hated those at the best of times. She didn't know what her mind would recall - with every passing moment she was creating memories that didn't feel the way she did just a week ago. 

"Can I be frank with you?"

"Please"

She sat on the edge of her bed, bracing.

"You've been scared of this thing for a while"

She breathed out. She closed her eyes, but was disappointed to think that she wasn't surprised. "And?"

"And I don't think your amnesia has anything to do with you running. I think it's just the excuse"

She stayed quiet for a moment, letting that sink in, sucker punched in a way she didn't expect. Perhaps she did want to love Andy. Perhaps - as Gavin was suggesting - her heart was more battered than she gave it credit for, and all this memory business was a neat excuse to push him away; a convenient reason not to risk falling in love again. Maybe she was inclined to give into safe loneliness, despite the fact she would advise anyone else against that. What did that say about her if it was true?

But then, she couldn't very well _force_ herself to love him either, not if it wasn't natural.

She hoped, not for the first time, that she could just snap her fingers and get it all back.

"Gavin?"

"Yes my dear?"

"Do I love him?"

There was another pause at the end of the line. Her eyes remained closed to the world, her pulse pounding in her chest and in her still-tender head.

"I think if you let yourself, you could love him with all your heart" he said quietly, sincerely, with a surety she wished she felt. "It took you a long time to open up after everything, Sharon. Maybe you need to stop worrying about Andy and give yourself permission to do it again"

A single tear slid down her cheek, and she wiped it away forcefully. She sniffed, annoyed because then Gavin would know she was crying, but he was her only shoulder in this and she needed to hear him say it to her. She needed to know the truth.

"The rest will follow" he said. The implication hit hard; that she was already open to loving Andy but standing in her own way was a harsh assessment that she already knew to be true. It was a long road back from Jack - one that she still felt keenly in her bones. Thankfully she remembered that they had divorced, but the emotional conflict felt closer to the surface; more tangible somehow, in the aftermath of her accident. Again, she wondered if her loving Andy was being bared by the feelings she was reliving. It made her think on his dedication to her this last week, which made her uncomfortable because she couldn't return his affection so readily; and back to guilt she went, completing the circle. It was never-ending.

"Just enjoy your day today, and stop trying to be who you think you _should_ be. Just be yourself. She might come out when you least expect it"

It was a good theory - one she had already been trying; going about her daily routine as if nothing was different, and letting her nature take hold. If she thought too hard about it things started slipping, but if she just allowed her mind to rest, little details came back to her without effort.

As if by cosmic timing, a memory of moving the cups and glasses from the bottom cupboard up to the one above the stove flashed in her mind, vivid as if she was holding a teacup in her hand. Another tear slipped out and she smiled at herself. (That wasn't so hard, whispered her mind. The voice was starting to sound disturbingly like her mother.)

"I love you, Gavin, you know that?"

She could practically hear his smile in the phone. "Darling. Everybody loves me"

She laughed at him loudly and bid him quick goodbye, a short _enjoy your shopping_ his final word. She looked at her phone and dwelled just a moment on what he had told her. She dabbed under her eyes, stopping the tears and calming her heart.

God, she really was being foolish in all of this. She knew still waters ran deep, but this was a bit excessive. And just to hit home that point, a little ditty from a musical movie came to mind - _the greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love…_ \- and suddenly the depth of emotion she had been caught up in gave way to that familiar sense that she really needed to get over herself. (Listen here Lizzie Bennett, she said to herself with a sarcastic inner-voice. How about you pull your head out of it and-)

She unlocked her phone and went back to the pictures. There was one she had hovered over a little longer last night, and the application was still open to it - her and Andy, of course, sitting side by side. They were at Venice Beach as far as she could tell from the street buskers and sheer number of barefoot people walking in the background. They were perched on a concrete bench, each with an ice cream in hand - she was leaning back, her head thrown in hysterical laughter as Andy leaned into her, his tongue posed to take a great big lick of her cone where it was dripping down her hand. His own ice cream was held out to the side to avoid the same fate.

They looked radiant. She felt like a voyeur for even looking at the picture in the first place, such was the easy intimacy of the shot and the look of delight on both their faces. She felt like an intruder in her own life, especially without the accompanying memory. Neither of them was looking at the camera, yet still it came through just how joyful the moment must have been. The shadow on the ground looked like Rusty, a second shadow standing next to him could be anyone - she guessed it was Gus. (The name had come back to her while watching the film last night, another innocuous moment.)

She wanted to feel that freedom again. She wanted to be the woman in that picture, so open and accepting and ready to take hold of happiness again with this man.

With newfound determination she stood and walked to the door, opening it with purpose and stepping out.

Maybe she didn't remember falling for Andy, but she had to first give herself permission to do so. If they had to rebuild their relationship from the ground up, so be it, but she wouldn't get anywhere if she occupied her mind with what they had been instead of what they could be.  

She walked to the kitchen and found him standing by her sink filling the dishwasher with the used dishes from the morning. He looked up and smiled at her when she came around the corner.

"You okay?"

"Just… returning a phone call" she said, gesturing with her phone in her hand, placing it on the bench. "Oh, and I remembered where I put the cups"

He smiled widely at her obvious enthusiasm, sharing in her moment of triumph, and somewhat confirming that he had noticed her lapse. It just reaffirmed to her that this morning's tea had been a way to try and help, and her stomach fluttered again with what she had identified as _Sharon's stomach has a bigger crush on Andy than it does on pasta and that's saying something_. She stalked to the appropriate cupboard and swung it open with a flourish, victorious to find her glasses and mugs stacked inside. She smiled at him. He clapped five times at her, cheery but maybe mocking her a little bit too, and she allowed the teasing because it felt right.

"Are we still going shopping?" she asked, close the cupboard again. 

"If you'd like"

"I would. I'm itching to be out of the house"

He just smiled, as if to say _I figured_ , but didn't embarrass her by saying it; he was getting the hang of just where her line was. She was determined to bring that line just a little closer during the day.

"I should probably check what I need first" she said. She turned on the spot just as Andy finished up with the dishwasher, and she opened the fridge expecting it to be bare. Instead it was stocked - the crisper was not as full of fresh food as she usually had it, but there was fresh milk, cheese, a handful of casserole dishes and a selection of juice. There was also an unopened tub of her favourite yoghurt and a block of chocolate.

She turned and looked at Andy, her eyes wide and beseeching.

He looked a bit sheepish as he answered. "I, ah, went shopping yesterday when we got the call you'd probably come home. In case you weren't up to going out yet. The casseroles are from… well, everyone, I guess"

She closed the fridge absentmindedly, still frankly a little bit shocked.

Good lord this man was head over heels in love with her and she was still standing there deciding if she needed to buy kale or broccoli. The whole moment tied her tongue to badly all she could do was squeak out a pathetic _well thank you_ , before turning back to the fridge and opening it again.

"You're welcome" he said to her back. Even in the awkwardness of that moment his voice sounded warm.

She decided she wanted some fruit. And a nice large tub of ice cream.  And definitely a bottle of wine, medication be damned.

She realised she was standing there staring into the fridge for too long, and not only that but given the configuration of her kitchen she was also blocking Andy from getting out of her way. She rolled her eyes right at the intruding yoghurt tub, pulled herself together, and closed the fridge, turning with a congenial smile.

"I think I've got an idea of what I've got now. You ready to go?" she asked, picking up her phone from the bench.

They both studiously ignored how too-cheery her tone was, accepting it for what it was (which was undoubtedly embarrassing and pathetic, but that was all par for the course these days, apparently.)

Andy swung his arm forward, ushering her before him, and she turned and went towards the door. She picked up her handbag and tossed her phone inside, then swung it only her shoulder and opened the front door, barely giving Andy time to collect his phone, wallet and keys from the sideboard and shove them in his pockets.

She walked just a bit ahead of him down the hallway, angling to invite conversation in an effort to get back on the right foot.

"What were the casseroles?" she asked as they reached the elevator.

"Um, there's a shepherds pie, a tuna mornay, and I made an eggplant parmesan"

She hummed. "Your favourite"

His abrupt silence had her looking over at him for a moment. He was watching her, sizing her up. She looked back, at first confused… and then it clicked. Her heart thumped hard, once, right against her sternum.

"Sure is" he said, not even trying to hold back his happiness.

She wasn't sure how she knew that, only that she did, and judging by his reaction it was something learned more recently. Something they talked about when they were together one time, maybe innocuous conversation over dinner, or when he made it for her in the past. It was something that was _theirs_ , for the first time since she got home.

The elevator saved her from answering, dinging just in time. They stepped inside with synchronicity, facing the front rather than each other.

She felt Andy take her hand, squeezing it just once in solidarity, before letting go to respect the unspoken boundary, even though their shoulder nearly touched.

"It's a start" he said.

And because it felt right - and because she was still riding on hope and possibility - she took his hand back and let it stay there, clasped in his like they did this every day. It didn't bring forth any more memories, but a moment of déjà vu washed over her, and Gavin's words came back to her as well.

Maybe she could love this man anyway - regardless of anything else - if she just opened herself to it. If she just - pun intended - took it in hand instead of letting go.

The thought made her smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Basically Sharon is Edna Mode smacking herself over the head with a rolled up magazine yelling 'pull. yourself. together'


End file.
